


I Choose to Walk this Path

by itsmylifekay



Series: Destroy and Reconstruct [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:01:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam has a realization and things finally start to move forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Choose to Walk this Path

  
Liam’s eyes flickered over the seemingly endless stream of text on the screen, glancing over post after post until he thought he would be dizzy with it. Because despite the years he’d been a part of One Direction, he still had trouble believing his life sometimes. Especially when his life included thousands upon thousands of tumblr posts, dedicated to him, or the band, or a bromance that people ‘shipped’. It was truly overwhelming for him.

  
And that wasn’t even including the fanfiction.

Because, honestly, that just scared him. And it wasn’t even the relationships, or the sex, or the orgies that made his skin crawl, it was the stories tagged with trigger warnings and self-harm mentions…suicide.

Sure, many of them weren’t realistic. With them being pirates or studying at uni or even living in some kind of alternate world. But they were still there and they still used their names, their personalities, their little quirks, which made it that much more impossible to shrug off. And he had a feeling he was a bit biased, or narrow-sighted, but there seemed to be more of them in his tag than any other. In fact, each day there seemed to be even more.

And it was absolutely gutting, because sometimes the stories weren’t so much as stories as slightly skewed versions of reality.  
The fans saw more than the outside world gave them credit for…than Liam himself gave them credit for, apparently. And that was becoming painfully evident with each passing day.

A new post notice popped up on the screen and he clicked on it warily, reading over the words with tired eyes.

_Oh my gosh, just read Hold Me Close then came here and saw these pics…someone hold me. No, fuck, someone hold Liam. I think my heart’s just been shredded._

Biting his lip and clicking on the link despite the voice in the back of his mind screaming at him not to, Liam had to hold back a gasp as he took in the zoomed in (and admittedly blurry) pictures of him walking into the building for one of today’s earlier interviews, shirt hiked up past his hips as Harry struggled to swing him off the ground. The red lines poking out from just beneath his pants were vaguely visible, but un-missable if you knew what to look for. And the fans did, apparently.

Or maybe not. Maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, he’d been with Harry, maybe it was another one of those bromance things…

Subconsciously rubbing at the real scrapes, Liam clicked back to the main page and typed in “Hold Me Close”, following the first link he saw and landing on a fanfiction page tagged with a trigger warning for self-harm. And now Liam was feeling an uncomfortable coiling in the pit of his stomach. Because that really couldn’t be a coincidence, now could it?

Either way, he read through the work. And immediately wished he hadn’t. Because it was just like all of the others and it hurt, burned his insides until all he wanted was to cut again.

And not because of their mentions of him being depressed and thinking he was ugly, but because he had been saved. He had made himself stop hoping for that long again. It was the only way he clung to the last shreds of himself, blocking that small dream away. It was an impossibility, but reading those words and imagining what it would be like if someone, if the boys, actually noticed and cared and helped him…it ripped him up inside.

How many times had he dreamed of that when he was younger? How many hours had he spent running scenarios in his head, of the moment when someone would reach out for him and pull him out of the darkness that was his mind?

Well, he was twenty now. Six years in the future and nothing had changed. Three years living with his parents and another three with the band.

And realistically he knew he shouldn’t be bitter about it. He was practically obsessive about hiding what he did. His cuts were usually tucked deep in the groves of his thighs, no chance of being seen unless his pants came down. But he had been sloppy, last time, out of control after some host had forgotten him in an interview and he had let the red lines wrap higher, until they barely poked out from the top of the elastic. Which is why he had worn a long shirt, even tied a plaid button-up around his waist…of course he hadn’t accounted for Harry manhandling him in front of a crowd of fans but, that had just been over sight, really. He should’ve seen it coming.

But of course he didn’t, because he wasn’t smart like that. He wasn’t a lot of things, really. Noticeable, funny, good with people…there were so many areas where he fell short. It was no wonder people didn’t bother to wonder what he did locked in the bathroom, or why he carried around a little snap-box everywhere he went (he’d almost been caught once, at the airport, but had managed to throw out the little tissue-wrapped razors before security).

Random people he’d never met before knew but those closest to him didn’t. There just had to be something inherently wrong with that, it couldn’t be just him. It just couldn’t. Either way, he felt like shit. And he bit his lip again, teeth digging in, hand coming up to pry at his forearm with blunt nails, adding to the small blemishes on his skin.

He shut his laptop quickly, not daring to look any farther, and crept into the bathroom for a shower. The slightly too hot water pounded against his skin and helped clear some of the thoughts raging inside of his mind, the pain just enough to take the edge off. And that’s what it always came back to. Pain to erase pain.

-

The cooling unit rattled quietly later, as he tried to fall asleep, the lights off and plunging the entire room into darkness. But Liam still felt very much awake. He stared up at the ceiling, tracing the shadows there, and letting his mind wander.

And he was shocked, by what he found there, by the redundancy of it all.

People weren’t going to care, people weren’t going to notice. So what was the point anymore? He shouldn’t wait for someone, shouldn’t expect someone to save him because by now it was obvious that no one would come for him. The only option left really…was to save himself.

Which sounded a bit cliché but it’s not like anyone could judge him. In fact, this would be perfect. If he were to save himself, then no one would look down on him or pity him or see him as some kind of messed up freak. He would just be Liam.

And in that moment, something inside of him clicked. He felt like he had a purpose again. A small scrap of control had been returned to his hands and the feeling was causing a foreign tightening in his chest, not uncomfortable though…but rather…exciting.

Unable to wait, he reached out across the covers to where he had tossed his laptop on the side table, flipping it open so that a soft glow painted over his features. And he began his search.

Depression. Anxiety. Self-harm. Self-help. Journaling. Meditation. Stress. Body image.

He learned so many things about himself in just those few hours in the dark. And he could hardly believe he hadn’t thought to look sooner. He felt empowered, not cured or magically happier or anything like that, but he finally felt like he could maybe do something about that crushing feeling in his chest and that heaviness in his mind.

Instead of bleeding, letting the pain course down his skin in tiny rivulets and beads, he could try so many other things. And if they didn’t work, it’s not like he would’ve lost anything, would’ve disappointed anybody.

He was doing this for himself, because he wanted to.

His silent screams were going unnoticed and he was tired of waiting. So he would just stop. And continue on his way.

He would forge a path for himself out of the darkness that had become his world, even if he had to walk it alone.

 


End file.
